White Magic
by volkslieder
Summary: Post 2x13, AU. Guy has travelled to the Holy Land to bring Marian back from the dead.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** _White Magic_  
**Rating:** G  
**Word count:** 665 words  
**Characters:** Guy/Marian  
**Summary:** Post 2x13, AU. Guy has travelled to the Holy Land to bring Marian back from the dead. Somewhat inspired by **dollsome**, except that her idea put a vastly more hilarious spin on the thing. I believe there may have been a magical goat.

**Disclaimer:** _Robin Hood_ is copyright to Tiger Aspect and the BBC. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended, and no money is being made.

---

_"There was a place, a light beyond the dark. But I was trapped halfway, caught in a never-fading dusk. A voice, a faint but insistent whisper of a voice told me I must wait. So wait I did, for such a time. Such a long time."  
Marian shifted her head, nestling closer. He kissed her forehead.  
"What was it like?" he asked.  
"Like...nothing. Half nothing and half something. A murmur of sound that I couldn't make out and shapes against light at the end of a corridor that I couldn't move down. A threatening pause in the dusk."  
"And then I opened my eyes. And saw you," she added.  
"Thought you were in heaven?"  
"Hardly."_

---

He'd had a vision of lifting her from the grave. Her face would be peaceful, her white dress still unblemished, no scar or darkening mark. He would hold her in his arms, tip the potion into her ready lips, and she would awake. And smile to see him.

It was not _quite_ like that. In the Holy Land it is hot and dry and the heat dries bodies as they lie packed in sand, far better than in dank English soil.

Guy pushed away the last clumps of sand, and moved his hand slowly, slowly, to peel back the gravecloth. Her face was drawn, almost tense at the lips. Older. The skin had wrinkled into the hollow of her cheekbones. Guy felt suddenly shaky, even a little ill. He let the grave clothes fall from his hand. The woman, that woman who had reluctantly sold him the potion had warned him. She had. And he hadn't listened. How long would Marian look like this? How long - no. He steeled himself.

He must do this, or not. And having come so far, could he bury her again? He shoved the questions from his mind. Before they could begin to whisper again, he took her up, held the small glass bottle to her lips, and with an awkward clutch of an embrace, tipped it into her mouth.

He waited.

"Marian?" he said, his voice a mere scratch in a throat dry from heat and waterless walking. He'd been in too much of a hurry to stop for more than a mouthful of water. He put his head to her chest. He thought - he was almost sure - he could hear the faintest thrum-thump. As he listened it grew stronger, minutely so. Achingly, incrementally, slowly. But there was no mistaking it. Marian would live again.

---

He stayed there for several minutes, his hand at her throat, feeling the slow pulse beneath his fingers. There was even (perhaps) a slight lessening of her face's pallor. The sun was rising higher in the sky, strengthening. In a few hours it would be overhead and scorchingly hot. He would have to move her.

It was the jolting that woke her, the unsteady rocking of being lifted and carried the distance from grave to town, the nearby cluster of buildings. Her eyes opened almost hesitantly.

"Guy? Guy - where am I? You -" her face, her eyes - they were not yet the Marian he knew. But the voice was. Perhaps the potion worked from inside out.

Marian looked dazed. Her eyes were sunken, tired, still distant. But they moved across his face, and her expression changed - a faint mixture of fear and dislike. He could guess the memory occupying her thoughts.

"Guy...I died. I remember. You -" She struggled weakly in his arms as he carried her. Once, twice she shifted herself, trying to free herself, and Guy almost lost his grip. But the effort had exhausted her. She lay still and closed her eyes, though whether in tiredness or frustration, Guy couldn't tell. "You killed me," she said, her quiet voice tinged with accusation.

"I _remember_. And now you have brought me back? Guy. _Guy._ What have you done...? It is...it is an abomination."

"No. No - it is - it will be perfect. The most perfect." He kept his eyes straight ahead, focused on moving step by step towards the squat town buildings in the distance. His words sounded as weak as Marian's attempts to free herself. But it would be. He would make it so.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** _White Magic_ - Chapter 2  
**Rating:** PG  
**Word count:** 1295 words  
**Characters:** Guy/Marian  
**Summary:** Post 2x13, AU. Guy has travelled to the Holy Land to bring Marian back from the dead. Somewhat inspired by **dollsome**, except that her idea put a more hilarious spin on the thing. I believe there may have been a magical goat.

**Disclaimer:** _Robin Hood_ is copyright to Tiger Aspect and the BBC. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended, and no money is being made.

---

Marian still hadn't spoken to him.

All he'd thought of, all that had pushed him onwards during the weeks at sea and riding across land, was her. Seeing her eyes open, seeing her smile at him. He would restore her. She would understand. She would be grateful. She would forgive him.

It seemed rather foolish, now. Very foolish. When had she ever behaved as he expected? Or wanted? Guy recalled the time he'd shown her his wealth, piled in his father's dark brown chest. He'd expected her to look a little impressed. But she'd only looked thoughtful, and more than a little uneasy.

After he had brought her back, they had both had to lie down. Marian, he placed on a thin sleeping mat. He threw himself down on the floor beside her, too hot and dry to move for a time. It felt like any water left in his body before now stained his dark shirt as sweat. It seemed an age later when he dragged himself up from the floor and towards the metal jug of water, his head spinning with the effort. _Marian first._ Kept in the darkest part of the room, the cool of the night hadn't left the water yet. He gave some to Marian, carefully tilting up the lip of the metal cup fraction by fraction. Her face was cool beneath his hands, cool like the deep sand of the grave.

She slept a great deal that first week. Guy slept a great deal less, watching her through the night between snatches of sleep. She was even weaker than he had thought, and he feared that she was slipping away. It was as if by watching her, by staying awake, he could guard against death returning. Her speeches after being revived seemed to have drained her to the point where she had only the strength to eat, drink and sleep. Her face had begun to look less drawn. Younger. More like Marian. He had avoided looking at her too much at first. It reminded him of what he had done. What it might mean. But surely, surely, in restoring her, in caring for her, he was redeeming himself? Doubts hung in his mind, whispering to him in the half-light of dusk and dawn, when her cheeks and eyes became dark hollows. There were horrid moments when it did not seem as if Marian lay there at all.

"Why did you bring me back?" came Marian's voice. Guy started, awoken from a shallow doze. It was late morning, a few hours after breakfast.

"I…because it was wrong," he said, cursing himself and his lack of words. Marian only looked at him, her eyes half-closed. Her head rested on one arm that lay flat beneath her long hair, almost touching the wall at the head of the bed.

"I love you," he said. Marian closed her eyes. "No –" he rushed to add, "I love you. I knew the moment I – in that moment that I lost you, I knew."

"That," said Marian, "is pig-swill."

"It is not," said Guy, stung.

"You killed me because you love me?"

"You – you had just said – and I had – after everything, after all I had done – had tried – had tried to be…" he stopped, horribly aware of how weak, how empty his words sounded. By all the fires of hell, why could he not explain himself to her? There was a long pause. Eyes closed, Marian seemed to have gone to sleep again.

"We are back where we were before," she said, quietly. "Perhaps it is better that…" her voice trailed away. Guy leant forward.

"Better that what?" he said, leaning forward. "What is in your mind, Marian?" There was no answer. He moved to her side, close enough to hear her slow and even breathing. She had fallen asleep, that was all. He could wake her for dinner later. Lying down on his own thin sleeping mat, his mind wandered back to when he had arrived here.

_He had been afraid, at first, that someone in Port Acre would recognize him. That someone would remember the fight that had happened in the middle of their town. Fortunately the Saracens here had become subdued after having battles and crusaders rage through their town, and most avoided him as earnestly as he did them. To those who did ask, he called himself Stephen, taking the name and story of the Knight Hospitaller that he had spoken with on the sea voyage. Stephen had joined them from a Holy Land port two weeks before Acre. His voice had been hollow with homesickness as he described his wife and the child that had been born while he was away._

"Soon," Stephen would say, with strangely steady certainty, "soon, I will go back. God has placed me here for now." Guy hadn't told Stephen exactly what was bringing him to Acre. He had spoken vaguely of joining the King's forces, journeying first through places where his friends had fallen. A kind of pilgrimage, he had said. On the last morning, they had been standing together on deck. The sails whipped and cracked, but the wind that had touched Guy was oddly warm, faintly so. Warmer than he expected. Warmer than the sea winds of the past months.

Stephen had been speaking of his wife Joan as they watched the sea beat and foam against the side of the boat. She loved the water, he said. Loved the freezing rush of the river near their house. She'd stand in it, he said, and dare him to do the same.

"The cold would take my breath away," he had said. "She'd laugh, and stretch her arms out," he showed Guy, tilting his head back as if breathing in the sunlight, "and say, 'Stand in it, Stephen. Stay in it. It'll warm…'" He looked across at Guy. "Do you never wish you had a wife?"

"Yes," Guy had said, honestly, and felt sadness clutch at his chest. Stephen had looked curious, but did not press. Guy had volunteered only rare pieces of information on the way over, preferring to listen to Stephen's stories than share his own. Especially to a Knight Hospitaller. He suspected Stephen would not approve of the type of miracles that came in glass bottles. Miracles? Sorcery_, his brain had hissed._

"Perhaps you will find one in the Holy Land," Stephen had said, turning his face back toward shore.

"Yes," said Guy.

Marian shifted on the bed. The sound pulled him from his reverie, and he brought her dinner, flat bread and roughly sliced meat and water on a wooden plate. Yesterday she had let him help her sit up to eat, but now he felt her resist. Only weakly, but she was resisting all the same.

"Guy…"

"Stay, then," he said, puzzled. She had seemed stronger today. Quieter, but stronger.

"Stay there, and I'll – " he ripped off a piece of the bread and lifted it to her mouth. Eyes fixed on his, she tightened her mouth closed.

"Please, Marian," he said. She shook her head. "Marian," he paused over her name, "if you do not eat, you will – I will lose you again." Her expression didn't change, stubbornness fixed in her eyes.

"If you don't eat," he heard his voice growing bitter, "you won't be alive when Robin comes to rescue you." Damn Hood, damn him. For being Lord of Locksley, for having Marian's heart, for being by design and desire a better man than he had ever managed to be. Robin would follow him out here. And Marian would run to be with him, flee Guy for Robin just as she had before.

A quiet voice came from behind him. "Robin is coming?"


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N**: Sorry this has taken so long! Thanks must go out to for being beta-tastic, once again.

--- PREVIOUSLY ---

"_Please, Marian," he said. She shook her head. "Marian," he paused over her name, "if you do not eat, you will – I will lose you again." Her expression didn't change, stubbornness fixed in her eyes._

_"If you don't eat," he heard his voice growing bitter, "you won't be alive when Robin comes to rescue you." Damn Hood, damn him. For being Lord of Locksley, for having Marian's heart, for being by design and desire a better man than he had ever managed to be. Robin would follow him out here, he was sure of it. And Marian would run to be with him, flee Guy for Robin like she had before. He stood, turning away from her to fume._

_A quiet voice came from behind him. "Robin is coming?"_

---

He turned back to her. He placed one hand gently on her cheek and felt a wisp of breath on his palm. Her jaw clenched under his hand, a weak imitation of the way her body had once stiffened as he'd pulled her to him. At first. At first she had been reluctant. But then -

"I - " Marian's whisper interrupted his thoughts. "I will...eat..." Each syllable took effort, forced out by sheer stubborn will.

"Thanks be to God," breathed Guy. Marian's eyes caught and held his; they were filled with a scepticism so strong it almost burnt.

There were no words spoken that day, or the next. Silent time plodded on. Although Marian seemed to strengthen, there was something still lacking. Guy could not understand it. The time gave him space to think, however. Space to remember that it was Hood she had chosen to live for. If Hood had only let her be, then she would have loved him instead. She had loved him. Hadn't she? He didn't know anymore. He wished he could avoid his memories, but they haunted him here as they had in England. He had hoped that in bringing her back, he would be released from this stagnation. But instead, he had become trapped. Trapped in the same cycle of refusal, and of guilt. How was he to escape it, if his attempt at salvation had led them here?

It was late afternoon. The heat of noon was fading, and Guy could walk through the town without perspiring. He left the room where Marian was sleeping, and paced among the houses. Without a conscious decision, he found his feet leading him towards the square where - he tried to push the image away, but it remained before his eyes. Her face as she had declared she loved Hood; her eyes as he had clutched her to him. Pained, accusing and scathing disappointment. Frustrated, he blinked away the tears that clouded his eyes. He was atoning for his sin, was he not? He was atoning more than any other. The tears forced through his angry blinking, clouding his vision again. He stumbled as he walked into the square.

"Guy!" called a familiar voice. Straightening up, Guy wiped his arm roughly across his eyes. Stephen was walking towards him. He gaped.

"I thought - I thought you were…what are you doing here?" Searching his memories of their conversations, Guy couldn't remember Stephen having any certain plans, only vague aspirations. But surely he had never said he would return to Acre, otherwise Guy would never have taken his name. He realised Stephen was watching him, and attempted to smile reassuringly. His face had not taken that shape for some time. Judging from Stephen's wry expression, it looked as odd as it felt; more a grimace than a smile.

"You look ill, my friend," said Stephen.

"Friend?" said Guy, avoiding the unasked question.

"We spent months on a boat together," said Stephen. "We watched many a man hurl his guts to the sea, and talked into the night. I feel we are friends." But his last sentence lifted up a little at the end; another almost question.

"Yes," Guy said. In truth, he was not sure he'd ever had a friend. Not since childhood. Allies, yes. But never friends. He hesitated, and then asked,

"What brings you to Acre?" Stephen looked thoughtful.

"Ah, yes," he said, and then paused. He seemed to have too many words to speak, and couldn't quite find where to start. Guy started as Stephen took his arm, leading him towards the fountain in the centre of the square. Guy wanted anything but to sit there, wanted to run from there as he had from that wooden room and the unmasked Nightwatchman. But how could he run when he could not explain it if he did? He sat next to Stephen at the fountain, distracting himself by running his fingers through the water as if through strands of hair.

"After you left the boat," Stephen began, "I began having nightmares. Night after night, the same image of you; far off, stumbling across the sand, parched and carrying some burden in your arms. Every time I drew nearer, you became further distant." He looked at Guy, his face carefully blank. "I felt…called. That God was calling me back here for some purpose." His smile twisted wryly; amused. "And who am I to argue with the Almighty?"

Guy said nothing, but the word brought a stab of guilt. He could not stop himself remembering what he had said two days ago, and Marian's answering scepticism. Stephen allowed the silence to stretch for some moments. He sighed.

"Well, if you do need me – " his sentence broke off as he stood turned away, still smiling amicably despite the frustration Guy had seen register in his eyes.

"I – " Guy's voice husked out despite himself.

"Yes?" said Stephen, turning back. Perhaps, thought Guy, perhaps…

"I – I may have need of a medical man."

"I see," said Stephen. His face was becoming set, purposeful.

As he led him back, Guy doubted his decision on every second step. How on earth would he – could he – explain to a God-fearing man what he had done? But it was too late to worry about that now. And perhaps he could think of some lie, some covering story to tell. With every step, every searching effort to find such a lie, his mind grew disobligingly blanker.

But Stephen asked no questions. He knelt beside the bed, his face all concern. He examined Marian, listening at her heart and mouth, placing his hand at her heart, face and throat. After some minutes of this, he straightened up.

"It is strange," he said, almost to himself. "She breathes, but does not live. Her heart beats in her chest, but her skin is strangely cold to the touch, as though her very blood is chilled. Or does not run at all, perhaps. Her heart beat is very quiet. I confess, I am confounded. It is not like any illness or weakness I have ever encountered. The way she is, is the opposite to how a person should be. There is paleness but no cold sweat, no fever, weakness but no coughing or…" he trailed off. "Strange. I thought I had seen a deal, but I have never seen anything like this. How did this happen?"

From across the room where he stood, arms crossed tensely across his body, Guy heard the sound of Marian's whisper.

"It was-"

"Marian, no!" Guy interrupted, his voice forceful. Her face was turned away from him.

"Guy," she said, with a little more force herself, "things cannot be remedied if you hide them away." She took a pause, gathering the energy to continue, "We must bring this out into the open if…if I am to live."

He said nothing.

"I was dead. He came, with a potion. He poured it down my throat. It brought me back."

"Did you – did you see – " Stephen began, before stopping himself, his face chiding. "Later. So…it was witchcraft. Sorcery."

"The woman called herself wise," said Guy, resenting Stephen calling it 'sorcery', even as he felt the truth of it hiss in his ears. "She said nothing of witchcraft…" But they had both known what others called it. He had seen it in her eyes as she passed him the bottle, and when he went back the next day as if he might return it, he felt it in her leaving.

"So," said Stephen, his face thoughtful, "tell me, was it just the mixture? Or was there an incantation? Did she speak words over it?"

Guy wished that there was a window to this room. It was suddenly hotter; airless. He drew in breath, and it rasped in his throat.

"I - it was me. I spoke."

He saw the fear sharpen in Stephen's eyes. He waited to see judgment, but, inexplicably, there was none. There was pity, tense anxiety, but no judgment or hatred. Who was this man?

"What did you say?" The voice came not from Stephen, but from Marian. She moved herself, her back now to Stephen. Now she faced Guy, with eyes that still had the power to scatter his thoughts.

"She said…" Guy began, hesitatingly, collecting his words as best he could, "she said that the drink alone was not enough, that it must have words of power. I said she should speak them, that there was nothing left in me. She said truth had power. She gave me the bottle, said I should whisper a truth into it. I said," he hesitated again, "I said I loved you." Marian's expression was half frustration, half pity. "But she said that was not enough. She laughed at me. She said it needed to be a deeper truth. Stronger." He could see it in his mind as he told them.

_The woman, hunched beneath her cloak in her hovel. The candle's weak flicker darkening the shadows. The bottle before him. _

"_Say it. Say it into the bottle."_

_And, so quiet that his breath had barely clouded the bottle, he had whispered, "I would give my very soul to have her live."_

"Is he damned, then?" Marian asked Stephen. Marian's face at this was more than Guy might have expected; there was pity there. And yet she did not look surprised.

"I was damned before," said Guy, hollowly. "I have killed men, almost killed my own child, and then I killed you who made me…made me more. You were more." There was an image that had been with him for the past few days, forever circling his mind. The Sheriff among his birdcages, pulling a bird out only to crush it in his hands.

"So were you," said Marian, quietly. She met Guy's eyes, and he felt a familiar stab of guilt. It was the same that would cut him when he failed to do or be what he had promised. When he failed to secure her safe passage out of the castle, so that she was nearly married to that loathsome Winchester. She had looked at him with just that expression. _I hoped, and you failed_, it had said, as clearly as if she had spoken aloud. Stephen looked from one to the other.

"So then," Stephen said. "You must give up your soul." Guy felt himself grow chill.

"As I understand it," said Stephen, and his voice was low and serious, "there are two powers that govern our world. There is God, and there is the Devil. They are the powers that have governance over the world, and over men's souls."

"But what if – what if – " he could barely speak the words, but he forced them out, "what if using the potion has already cursed my soul?" Stephen looked at him for a long time.

"I think…I do not believe that a man's soul is ever really lost while he still lives," he said. "I believe that you can still choose to have God govern your soul. You can give your soul to God, and not the Devil. I believe – " he forced himself to stop as Guy raked his hand through his hair, ever-increasing tension visible in his face and body.

"I cannot make this right!" Guy cried out, and there was irritation as well as desperation in his voice. "I try. I have tried, but whatever I do, it is never right. My words, my actions, what I want I can never have. The world is against me, Stephen. No one cares for me, not even her - " his final words were out before he even realised it. His face was horror, Stephen's all confusion.

"I thought she was your wife," was all Stephen said.

"No," said Guy, his head back in his hands and his voice muffled. "She loves another. But she loves me too, I know she does. She…" his voice trailed off. Oh, his words sounded so empty.

"You…are not married, are you?" It was less a question than a statement. Guy let out a bitter bark of a laugh.

"She's married to another," he said. "Back in England."

"He didn't come."

"He doesn't know." At this, Marian pulled herself up on the bed. He could see this exhausted her, but as before, sheer willpower and indignation gave her strength.

"You said Robin was coming," she protested.

"No," said Guy, "I said – if you died you would never see him. Perhaps he will come. But the magic, bringing you back? He would have no part of that. He is a _good_ man." Guy could not quite stop that word from twisting, sneering. He had been so often taunted with it; by the Sheriff, by himself, by Marian, by the ever-smirking, effortlessly heroic Hood.

"I see," said Stephen, before Marian could reply. "You have brought back another man's wife." Stephen paused, apparently considering decorum and then abandoning it. "What is it you plan to do with her exactly?" Guy could feel Marian's eyes on him.

"I…I thought if I brought her back, that she – " Damn the man, why did he have to make him repeat what now sounded so foolish? "…that she would love me for it." He could feel Marian's gaze on him, used to what she had heard so often before and apparently unmoved by it. He had to leave this room. Guy sat outside the door, leaning against the rough wall. Knees against his chest, he sank his head upon his arms. Stephen would not help him, Marian would not love him. He was damned.

He felt a hand on his arm. Stephen sat beside him.

"I do understand," he said, quietly. "Once, when Joan was very sick, I bought something for her. I don't know what was really in it. The man assured me that he had spoken certain words over it, and if I added blood from a newborn baby's heel, that…that Joan would get better." Guy expected to see distaste in Stephen's face, but instead there was a grimness, a solemnity. "Joan heard. And refused to drink it. She called me a foolish, wicked, man. She told me to pray, and quickly, before I was tempted to do something worse. And then, as I knelt beside the bed, she put her hand to my face and said that she understood." His face lightened a little at this. "And that – it helped. She knew…we are not wicked. Sometimes we behave wickedly, even when we most wish to do good."

He looked across at Guy. "I cannot help you bring her back if it will lead you both into sin. To be with, to know another man's wife, especially when she is reluctant, will bring you no happiness. You must decide. If you cannot have her, will you still risk your soul?"

"I thought – I thought you said I was not damned," Guy said. Even in despair, he found he hoped for an escape, for an answer.

"I think. I hope. I do not know," said Stephen. "I do not know you. I do not know what decisions you both might make, and where that might lead you. I think," he hesitated, "I think that there is much on your Marian's mind."


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks must go to hulamoth at LiveJournal for being an awesome beta!

---

PREVIOUSLY

_He looked across at Guy. "I cannot help you bring her back if it will lead you both into sin. To be with, to know another man's wife, especially when she is reluctant, will bring you no happiness. You must decide. If you cannot have her, will you still risk your soul?"_

_ "I thought – I thought you said I was not damned," Guy said. Even in despair, he found he hoped for an escape, for an answer._

_ "I think. I hope. I do not know," said Stephen. "I do not know you. I do not know what decisions you both might make, and where that might lead you. I think," he hesitated, "I think that there is much on your Marian's mind."_

---

Stephen was right. Marian's mind was busy; it thrummed like the quick lute-strumming fingers of a minstrel. Marian wasn't sure what to think of this Stephen. He seemed a good man; a medical man. A Knight Hospitaller. But medical men had deceived before. So she was not quite sure. Not yet. At the same time as she was considering this, she was also trying to plan her escape, trying to ascertain just how limited her strength was, and endeavouring to listen to the conversation outside the doorway. Since sitting up made her head spin, any escape would have to involve assistance. Perhaps if she appealed to the morals Stephen appeared to have, perhaps if she entreated him to help her and not Guy? Or perhaps if she made some faint suggestion to Guy of being more than willing to travel back to England with him? There was a hollow sinking in her stomach at the idea of that. Marian was not sure she had the energy to pretend. And given what her pretending had caused…she brought her hand up to rest on her chest. The wound had healed, mostly. By itself, she supposed. Her memories were a little hazy of those early days. There was still a dull ache, though, that refused to fade quite away. Still irresolute, Marian forced her mind fully onto the conversation between Stephen and Guy.

"What if," she heard Guy say, "what if I promise you that I will not harm her? In any way," he added, in a hurry, as if Stephen had looked unconvinced, or perhaps unsure. "Then I will give my soul to God, Marian will be restored, and I will take her back to England." Through the tired rasp of Guy's voice, she thought she could detect a note of hope.

"And restore her to her husband?" Stephen's voice was gentle, but insistent. There was a pause.

"And restore her to her husband." Whatever hope there had been was gone now, replaced with resignation. Marian felt surprise flare within her. After all this, after the traveling and the near-damnation, would he really give her up so easily?

She clenched her fist beneath her blanket. She had fought him off before. She would and could do it again. _You kissed him, too_, said her mind, reminding her of the gentle scratch of his cheek against hers. _It was for Robin_, she told herself. _I did it for him, so he would be safe. And I returned to him._

She could feel that same small part of her threatening to unburden further images; of her seeking him by night in her best dress, reaching for him by the fire that was suddenly intoxicatingly hot. And with that, the emotions. The thud of guilt that had come with the frustration of seeing Robin at the window, that came with the sudden release from distraction and scattered thoughts. She had been frightened too, she remembered. Frightened at the way her thoughts had scattered. Marian knew her own mind. Though she might sometimes lie, she knew why. She was always sure of the truth and the future she was working towards and the man that she would keep fighting beside. She had felt afraid in that moment, in Guy's room, because what had been breaths and flutters of doubt had threatened to gust away her certainty. She had felt pulled towards a second future, even as she clung close to the first. There had been more whispers after then, more moments where that second future had been at the edge of her thoughts. But now – after what had happened, after all that Guy had proved himself to be – that future was dead.

Stephen's voice had grown softer still. "Will you swear to it?" he asked.

"You do not trust me," replied Guy.

"I must be sure. If you are determined to act honourably, you have nothing to lose by such a vow." There was a silence. Then,

"No," Guy said.

"No?"

"Yes. Yes, I will swear. I swear," Guy paused again, and it was as if Marian could sense every aching fibre of his soul, from this new righteousness that pulled so painfully in its reshaping. When he spoke again, that same ache throbbed in his voice.

"I swear that I will restore her. To her husband."

"Then," came Stephen's voice, "let us pray." As he began to pray, his voice dropped until all Marian could hear was a whispering hush and sway, a rhythm of words without being able to catch a single one. Lying there upon the bed, Marian allowed herself to relax again, pushing her restless thoughts away. But her muscles would not let go. There was a strange tension, a strange tightening which then became a sudden rushing warmth. It hummed through her body, singing in every thread of her; as if her very limbs were rejoicing to be alive. With a gasping gulp her lungs took in air. Her breaths were deep and full; no longer the shallow half-breaths of before.

Whatever had happened, it had restored her. Marian knew she would only have moments before he returned. Her mind was ablaze with thoughts; wanting to return to England. To Robin. Home. Not here. The soft conversation outside the door had stopped. Guy entered alone, crossing quickly over to kneel beside the bed. She reached out and took Guy's hand, raising her eyes up to meet his.

"Thank you," she said. She hadn't intended to add emotion to her words. But it came of its own accord. For several moments, she found that she couldn't look away from him. And, even more oddly, that she was grateful to him.

"Stephen says there is a boat leaving today," Guy told her. "After that, there is nothing for weeks. Not from Acre."

Her hand was still resting in Guy's. He placed his other atop it, briefly. His hands were large, but his fingers were slim, almost delicate. Then, suddenly, a thought – something – made him pull his hands away, and stand up. The thought that he had promised to return her to Robin, she guessed. She still wasn't entirely sure he would go through with it. They must leave sooner rather than later, before he had a chance to change his mind. He had reneged on his promises before.

"Then we must travel today." Marian sat up – too fast. She clutched her spinning head. Guy instinctively moved to hold her, steady her.

"I am well," said Marian, the shortness of her words equally instinctive. Guy drew away. "That is – thank you, but I – " she went to stand up. Her legs seemed fine at first, if a little weak from disuse. And then they buckled under her, so suddenly that she grasped Guy's arm without thinking.

"Stephen!" he called out. At first there was only silence, then footsteps sounded outside the door. He appeared at the door, holding half a loaf of in one hand, a jug of sloshing water, and dates nestled in the crook of his arm.

"I thought that there might be call for these," he said.

After Marian had eaten, Stephen walked with them to the harbour. To Marian's embarrassment, her legs refused to support her. There had been a brief exchange of glances between the two men before Stephen offered to carry her there; a request in Guy's expression, and an answering understanding in Stephen's. It was afternoon now, a little cooler, with a slight wind. The three of them were silent as they walked. Marian shifted slightly against Stephen with each step. The rough material of his tunic rubbed against her face, resting against his shoulder.

As they approached the harbour, Marian half-expected Guy to offer to carry her onboard. She might be newly not-quite-dead, but she still did not think she wanted him to carry her onto the ship like a bride over the threshold. He had done it once already after reviving her. That would suffice.

He didn't.

He walked ahead of them up the gangway, Stephen and Marian following. The wind caught the edges of his linen shirt, lifting it away from his skin. There was a careful distance between the two of them, and she felt it.

"Thank you," said Guy, as Stephen made to return to shore. Stephen paused, coming back to stand before Guy.

"I wish you all the best, my friend," said Stephen.

"Friend," repeated Guy, almost to himself. "Yes. Thank you," he said again.

"You are a good man, Guy," said Stephen, more quietly. Guy looked at him, but said nothing. He looked across to Marian, seated where Stephen had placed her, against the hard wood of the ship side.

Stephen smiled at her. "Best wishes to you also, Marian," he said to her, "I shall pray for a good journey home," he said. "May God guide your passage and keep you from the worst of the storms."

"From all storms," asserted Marian, remembering the harsh rain and wind she had endured on her journey to Acre.

"No," said Stephen, as he moved towards the gangplank, "you cannot avoid them all! You must sail through some storms before you reach home." And with that, he was gone.

The distance between Marian and Guy continued as they sailed onwards. She had almost wondered if he would tell her to lie next to him, and pretend they were married to prevent asking questions. But he didn't. Marian supposed that something Stephen had said must have sunk in.


End file.
